


Our Lady of Sorrows

by campholmes



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, NUNS!!! Its here!, read notes for trigger warnings, the Russian Orthodox Nun, the inherent lesbianism...of the nun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 05:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13474344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/campholmes/pseuds/campholmes
Summary: The days are long and slow, the meals are comforting and warm, the beds are soft and the night is quiet, pitch black. Katya sleeps with her Bible and crucifix beside her, and God watches over her, rewards her with heaven for serving Him dutifully. Katya is comfortable, happy here. She hopes that Sister Beatrice will feel the same way, soon enough.





	Our Lady of Sorrows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yekaterina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yekaterina/gifts), [UNHhhh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UNHhhh/gifts).



> I just received the sweetest, most Lit Christmas presents in the mail, and was reminded of my own Christmas inadequacy. I love my friends more than anything. Both of you are some of the best people I know, I'm so lucky to be able to have made a little Drag Race counterpublic with you both. Merry fucking belated ass Christmass. :)))))
> 
> The art-iest art I've created in months. Probably doesn't make sense, since I was really not going for that but rather exactly what I wanted to go for. Ya know. Not so much a story but a collection of messy moments. Closer to my first few fics than anything I've written since. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for: bastardization of religion, blood, derealization/dissociation/mental illness, essentially it's gross! Hope you like!
> 
>  
> 
> Guess what my tumblr url is.

Katya’s new roommate is due to arrive in one hour. Dinner has past, and the moon is rising beyond her window, reflecting into a thousand tiny moons in the frost on the thick glass. She hardly turns the ceiling light on at night, prefers to light the mass of candles on the dresser, so that they cast moving light on the walls. She decides to leave the fireplace for now, doesn’t mind the mild chill.

She doesn’t feel a particular way about the rooming. It’s hard for her to feel worry or anticipation like she did growing up, before she was shipped off into the woods, never to see her family or very few friends again. It’s hard to feel anxiety when all of your secrets have already been spilled, all of your dirtiest truths have been laid bare in front of your entire family. Katya has pushed past the emotional barrier, knows from her short stint in school that she’s a nihilist.

She’s hardly about to put stock in things that aren’t meant to be, and her old life is surely one of those things. Her mama had shuffled her away from her childhood bedroom, crying as she prayed up the pines to the gray heavens, desperate for God to _fix Yekaterina!_

Katya has grown a little indifferent since then, and finds that she loves God even more. And Maria the most.

She enjoys her life. She wakes up every morning, smokes out her window as she prays, reads her Bible with cold fingers, looks out her little window to the woods below and across. She dresses, prays, eats breakfast with her sisters, studies, smokes, prays, eats lunch, reads, prays, smokes, sleeps. 

It’s simple. Katya is fine with it, is happy with what she’s got. A new roommate will be interesting, and she takes a little time in her morning prayer to hope that all will go well, if God is willing. She thinks about it through smoke, the cigarette that she doesn’t dare waste between her fingers. They can’t stop her from smoking, can’t force her to direct her meager funds towards anything else when they visit the city. So Katya makes certain that she buys packs upon packs, enough to last her until the next scheduled trip.

If her hand is slapped for doing so, she’ll simply put the cigarette out on the windowpane. 

There’s a sharp knock at her door after a bit more reflection, and she rises from her desk to open it. The ancient wood creaks to reveal a tall woman with bright red cheeks, pores visible from the wind. There are tiny circling ringlets of blonde baby hairs peeking from behind her hood, her eyes are wide and deep brown. Katya wonders childishly if she can even see out of them, until she sees the shadow of her pupil in the candlelight.

“Hello.” Her voice is high, ringing in the tiny room. She smells of pine, she’s likely been driving through the woods all day long without rest, and Katya can see the sleep building in the inner corners of her eyes. Katya can imagine her sprawled in the back seat of a big car, legs open beneath her skirts. She shifts onto her other foot, blinks to erase the image from her mind. “I’m Beatrice.”

She speaks differently than Katya, differently than many of the other nuns here. Katya wants to ask her where she’s from, but too much of the time her sisters don’t want to volunteer that information: too many of them have been sent away from their homes unfairly, for reasons they would rather not share, and Katya has no wish to bring Sister Beatrice’s painful past to the forefront, even if it must be all that she can think about.

“Yekaterina,” Katya replies, and Beatrice nods at her. They’re both slightly out of breath, Beatrice’s chest is heaving from climbing the stairs. Katya wants to place her palm on it, over her breasts, calluses on heavy, scratchy fabric. Beatrice steps forward, holding her suitcase in front of her. It bumps against Katya’s knee and she grunts, moves aside to allow Beatrice to smooth out the brown blanket on her bed, set her suitcase atop it. It seems light, or Beatrice is very strong. Katya doesn’t know which she prefers.

“Welcome,” Katya says. Beatrice sighs, sits beside her suitcase. The bed creaks beneath her. She stares at Katya as if she’s done her a personal wrong, or as if she has the power to right all of her wrongs. Katya’s heart is beating faster than it was a moment ago, when she was nearly certain that Beatrice would ignore her for the rest of the night.

“Thank you.” Beatrice’s shoulders fall a little. Katya didn’t see how tense she was until she begins to relax. Her sweet face is reflected in the light of the candle, her nose casting a shadow on her cheek. “Do you like it here?”

Beatrice looks anxious, suddenly, and Katya wonders how she would possibly worry. There isn’t much room for worry here, the days are long and slow, the meals are comforting and warm, the beds are soft and the night is quiet, pitch black. Katya sleeps with her Bible and crucifix beside her, and God watches over her, rewards her with heaven for serving Him dutifully. Katya is comfortable, happy here. She hopes that Sister Beatrice will feel the same way, soon enough.

“Of course,” Katya replies. Beatrice’s eyes start to squint, and Katya raises her brows at the skepticism. “It’s not bad at all. There’s not much to do, but maybe… that’s a good thing? It’s calming, the routine.”

Beatrice’s lips push outwards and Katya marvels at their pink hue. She starts to unbutton her large wool coat, pulls off her thick mittens to do so. Katya can see that they’ve been hand-knit, and wonders if Beatrice has done them herself. Katya had to be taught when she came to the convent. She would happily teach Beatrice.

“You smoke?” Beatrice’s nose wrinkles at the smell of the room. Katya’s breath catches in her throat, but she nods anyways. Beatrice hums in acknowledgement. They don’t speak for a while afterwards.

It’s nearly bedtime, and as Beatrice pulls off her coat and heavy clothing, leaving her underclothes on as she unpacks her suitcase in the chest of drawers on her side of the room, Katya tries hard not to watch her. The backs of her thighs ripple as she walks, her short white slip bunches up at her sides. She reaches up to put her Bible and other books on top of her dresser, lights the candle that’s been sitting on it, gathering dust as Katya has been lonely.

Beatrice peers out of the window curiously, into the woods beyond. Katya watches her eyes glide up to the moon, squint into the darkness to make out the shapes of the pine trees.

“They allow you to smoke here, it must not be so terrible,” she whispers. Katya is beneath her blankets already, settling in for an early night in order to wake joyfully in the morning, or so she tells herself. “I’ve been nervous…”

Katya breathes. Beatrice’s fingers press against the glass so that little halos of fog spread outwards from her fingertips. Katya knows that the window is cold.

“Well, they don’t _let_ me, but they can’t really stop me. They’re mostly reasonable. But they know why we’re all here, and they treat us as such, most of the time.”

Beatrice turns to face her sharply, Katya imagines that it must hurt her neck to snap it around so quickly. Her heart beats a bit faster as Beatrice stares her down.

“What do you mean? I mean,” her head hangs low, the shadow of her nose migrates higher up her forehead and her hands come up to touch it. “I know what you mean.”

Katya hums. Now that she is bundled up in her bed, she is falling asleep rapidly, and her eyes close on Sister Beatrice before she can really respond. Beatrice’s shuffling around to ready for bed rings in her ears as she drifts downward, under the covers.

 

 

The cold winter moon is peeking through the curtains when Katya hears Beatrice shift in bed. She opens her eyes in the dark to watch her shadow grow as she sits up, to watch as she lights the candle on her bedside table with a match.

“Are you alright?” Katya whispers. Beatrice nods, blinks her big brown eyes. Katya wonders if she was asleep for a little. She looks cold, Katya wishes that she could keep the fire running all night long for her. They’ve reached a rhythm, one that allows for either of them to tap the other’s shoulder in sleep, so that they can climb into bed with each other for warmth. Katya stamps down her hope that tonight will be much of the same. Beatrice must have hailed from some warmer place, how she ended up so far north is confusing to Katya. Perhaps she spent most of her time in a vacation home in Italy? Katya doesn’t dare ask.

“It’s cold,” Beatrice mumbles. Katya chooses to sit up, nods at her. Beatrice’s long, blonde hair is loose and flows all across her body. Katya would love to brush it, would love to see it covering those large breasts that hang beneath her crisp, white nightgown. Katya isn’t going to last the winter at this rate. The snow keeps piling up, and Beatrice continues to look the way she does.

Katya’s own hair is pulled back with a ribbon. She pulls it out, is about to tie it tighter at the base of her neck when Beatrice’s eyes flick to the door, back at her, and Katya can feel her fingers drop the brown ribbon amongst her heavy blankets and sheets. She stills completely, arms in the air above her shoulders, stares at Beatrice’s rosy cheeks as she pulls her blankets off of her legs slowly.

“Yekaterina.”

Katya’s heart is thumping out of her chest. She wants to grip her crucifix tight, but it’s resting on her small bedside table and Beatrice’s dark eyes are preventing her from moving a muscle. The curtains rustle as she leaves her bed in the flickering candlelight, shuffles along the wall to stop the floor from creaking. Katya has lived in this room for almost a year, and still hasn’t bothered to figure out who’s sleeping beneath her. 

“Sister Yekaterina,” Beatrice sighs. Katya’s heart doesn’t stop it’s now steady pace, ten times faster than her usual one. She feels like a mouse in the woods just outside, running blindly, blinking as frosty leaves slap against her face in the freezing cold air, trying to escape a bird of prey.

But God, she wants to be eaten. Her mind won’t quit, she can’t stop herself from praying that Beatrice will bare her breasts for her in Katya’s tiny bed, praying to God that she can sin in the only way she’s ever known how: loving a woman. 

Beatrice’s fingers are cold when they wrap around Katya’s shoulders, even through her wool nightdress. Katya’s skin is burning, with shame and desire and desperation, her eyes are filling with tears, and Beatrice climbs as quietly as she can onto the bed, moving her body and long hands and huge bottom onto Katya’s blanket, the one she had knitted slowly by the fire for months, in the common room. 

Katya closes her eyes as her fingers cup her cheeks. Her breath is warm, in such contrast to her freezing fingers. They’re so long and so soft, they hold Katya’s face as if she’s dangerously breakable. Or as if she’ll make a sound, disrupt the silence of the hall.

“Sister Beatrice,” Katya huffs. She barely speaks it, but Beatrice is right in front of her, so close to her face. Katya can make out her brown corneas, her black pupils. Her eyes are wiser than they were that first night. Katya isn’t certain that she’s real.

“May I,” Beatrice whispers. Katya nods, and then Beatrice’s teeth are sinking into her lower lip, biting until Katya grunts, pushes her off.

“You should not-” Katya swallows. “They can’t see.” Beatrice nods, leans forward again and kisses Katya so softly that Katya wonders if she is even there. Maybe Beatrice is a ghost, an angel waiting for God to carry her to heaven, maybe Katya is her prize for sainthood. Maybe Katya is beautiful enough for Beatrice to turn her ways from the Lord, maybe Beatrice will press her pretty nose against Katya’s stomach.

Katya opens her mouth to Beatrice’s lips. She lets her jaw unhinge, bone on bone, and Beatrice’s tongue touches her upper lip for a half second, before retreating back into her mouth. 

Katya’s heart is slowing down, somehow. Beatrice’s fingers move down her neck, so cold, to her collarbone. She presses her fingers against the soft wool of Katya’s nightgown, and her fingers feel heavy, but light enough that they could be holy. 

“Sister-” Beatrice says. Katya cuts her off by pulling her right down atop her, lying back against the pillow propped on the headframe, Beatrice’s breasts squishing her own. 

Katya cups her behind in both hands. She can’t spread her fingers across a cheek, they’re too wide, and she stifles her groan in her throat at Beatrice’s warm body, underneath her scratchy nightgown. Katya’s is warmer, softer, and maybe she’ll teach Beatrice how to knit a new one for the cold winter ahead, with the soft, expensive wool they’re provided. 

Beatrice pushes her ass back into Katya’s hands. She’s making tiny whining sounds, they aren’t kissing anymore but Katya is just staring at her, watching her blink, watching her blonde lashes reflect the candlelight. 

“Oh,” Katya pinches her skin through her nightgown and Beatrice whimpers. Katya’s throat is closing up, she has such an urge to flop Beatrice down on the bed and take full advantage- she can see her mischievous eyes twinkling and she can hear how desperate she is for Katya to touch her. “Sister… please.”

“God will not take your begging into account,” Katya whispers. She pushes Beatrice’s shoulders back again, she can feel warmth spreading like a waterfall down her spine. “You must endeavor to do good works, and then God will smile upon you with kind offerings.” The warmth pools in her hips, settles there.

Beatrice moans out loud as Katya sits her up and guides her back down, takes all of her heavy hair that’s falling around Katya like a sheet with her, twists it into a lump and settles it beside her. Katya covers her mouth quickly, so that her moan is muffled, and Beatrice’s little teeth scrape at her palm. It makes her shiver, it makes wetness drip in her underclothes. 

“Be quiet.” Katya keeps her hand over her mouth. Her crucifix is glinting silver in the light, she can see Beatrice’s eyes flash and then squeeze shut. 

“You will sin for me?” Beatrice whispers beneath her palm. Katya leans close, lips against her temple, tongue on the her warm skin, sliding across her hair.

“God sent you to me, how can this be sin?” Katya whispers. Beatrice moans and Katya allows her to pull her hips down on top of her. 

Katya has seen her naked, many a morning in the cold air of the bedroom that smells of old fire, cold fall and then freezing winter. She’s seen Beatrice’s pale flesh bloom with goosebumps, spike and roll and squish and she’s heard her small grunts as she pulls up her undergarments, buttons and twists and makes comfortable.

But unwrapping her from all of it is beyond God. Katya can feel her sisters singing beside her in the chapel as she touches Beatrice all across her breasts and stomach, licks her collarbone and tastes the sweat of her inner hips. Beatrice has curly blonde hair that spreads nearly from hip to hip, Katya flattens her palm over it and squeezes, kisses Beatrice’s left breast.

“Please, can I-”

“Sister Yekaterina, please.” They speak at the same time, and Katya can feel her eyes widen. She slips her fingers between Beatrice’s lips, and her cold fingertips nearly sizzle against the hot and wet.

Katya slides her fingers in and out, twists up into her and wiggles, just to feel as much of Beatrice as she possibly can, as much as she can allow herself. She swallows her moans, hitches them against Beatrice’s stomach.

“Sister,” Beatrice sighs. Katya slips her fingers out of her, her slick insides closing up behind her blunt nails. “Please.”

Her voice is hushed enough to please the roiling anxiety in Katya’s gut, and she takes a minute to stick her nose into the soft, curling blonde hairs that are sticky with Trixie’s wetness. She licks across them, doesn’t push her tongue past Beatrice’s lips to touch at her smooth, damp skin. 

“Maria,” she mumbles, clamps her teeth down on a section of curls and pulls back slightly, neck aching with the movement. Beatrice gasps, her hips follow her teeth, do her bidding, her calves pushing into the bed in an attempt to ensure that Katya won’t yank too hard, won’t cause her sharp pain.

But _God tests us all_ , Katya’s own knowledge supplies. She jerks her head back and Beatrice gasps so loudly that Katya’s mouth falls open in fear, her eyes are burned by the heavy silver crucifix on the bedside table.

Beatrice has her head back against the pillows, one hand against those soft blonde curls, cupping herself, a forearm thrown across her eyes. Katya wants to know everything about her, wants to ask the forbidden question: if she’s here for the same reasons that Katya is. Katya hopes against all hope that she is, wonders again in the dim, silent room if Beatrice is even real.

Katya climbs across her, keeping close to her naked body so as to not cause the bed to creak. Beatrice pulls her arm down, her brown eyes search Katya’s.

“Where are you going?” She asks it so quietly that it sends shivers down Katya’s spine- her arm collapses a little and her nipples drag along the skin atop Trixie’s collarbone. Katya knows that during her next anatomy class she’ll sit straight in the chair, reciting the names of all of the bones in the human body as she imagines each and every last one of them belonging to Sister Beatrice. 

“To please you,” Katya kisses her on the lips. Beatrice flows upwards to greet her, pulls her body down as Katya reaches blindly to the bedside table.

“Sister Yekaterina.” Beatrice squeezes the words between her lips. Katya can feel her own thighs opening, can feel herself rubbing against Beatrice’s hip, her skin too soft for it to be truly of the Earth. God created every last whisper of hair on Beatrice’s thighs and stomach, and Katya blinks her eyes open to Beatrice’s eyebrows as her fingers finally close around the heavy cold of her crucifix.

In the winter when the convent is even further shrouded in night, Katya’s precious crucifix freezes in the cold next to her bed. It’s on it’s way there, and Katya can only imagine what it will feel like against Beatrice’s burning, wet heat.

She closes her eyes again, continues to kiss Beatrice into the pillow, pushing her nose against Beatrice’s plumper one. Everything about Beatrice is soft, plump and warm, and Katya can feel her heat radiating against her stomach in the tiny slip of air between their bodies.

Katya finally gains balance, sends a prayer for equilibrium, ever-so-slowly brings her hand, the heavy metal causing her forearm to shake, to press it against Beatrice’s soft belly. She opens her mouth wide against Katya’s, her pink tongue falling to the side, her teeth scraping at Katya’s bottom lip. She inhales air like she’s never taken a full breath, as if Katya is holding God’s hands against her stomach.

“Cold,” she whispers. Katya huffs out through her nose, drags the cool metal down Beatrice’s stomach, pushing the top of it, the sharp edge, into her belly button so that she gasps again. Katya can feel her trembling beneath her, with the need to keep silent and the sensation of the crucifix against her bare skin.

“Maria,” Katya breathes again as she flips the crucifix around, presses the freezing silver against Beatrice’s opening, taking care to cover her mouth with the palm of her hand before. Beatrice opens up beneath her as if she’s parting the Red Sea, her heated, wet flesh giving way to accept the heavy object inside.

Katya is melting, she can feel her sweat dripping in fast rivulets down her breasts. She visited a sauna in Finland, once, before being sent away. The sweat had poured out of her like it had never before, her body had weakened and shriveled with the exhaustion of her desperate pores. This is much of the same, except now she’s dripping from her own coarse curls to Sister Beatrice’s knee, sliding down her soft body to watch her most expensive possession, her closest connection physically to the Lord, creeping slowly inside of her.

She brings her fingers to Beatrice’s curls, pulls her pink lips apart, allows her sticky wetness to slide away for Katya to have a view of the silver disappearing inside her. It’s almost slid the entire way, and Katya has to poke both of her thighs to encourage her to spread further, so that the cross can rest against her. 

Beatrice is panting, her eyes are open wide but Katya knows how deep the freezing metal is inside her, the heaviness of it pulling her into the sheets. Katya rubs her wetness and it’s embarrassingly loud in the room. 

“You took all of it in,” Katya says. Sweat is pooling in the creases of her armpits, the edges of her hips. Beatrice’s face is bright red, her deep brown eyes bore into Kaya’s. Katya has never been used to eye contact, but Beatrice hasn’t ceased hers since she moved in. Katya can’t look away.

“Please.” Her voice is miniscule in the room and it’s quietness causes the air around them to feel heavier, Katya is struck with the realization of where she is, who she’s with, what she’s doing. Her hips drag upwards along Beatrice’s thigh, so that she can feel a little of pressure against her nerves. She sighs, aches, and continues to hold the metal inside of Beatrice.

Her hair is sticking to her own back. It falls below her waist, usually twisted round and up beneath fabric, and she imagines that her darker blonde waves are somewhere twirling with Beatrice’s cold white curls, somewhere among the blankets of her bed. Beatrice’s hair is so heavy, Katya wants to wrap her wrists in it and hold it tight, feel it turn to silk beneath her fingers.

“Please!” Beatrice breathes. Katya can’t help but smile, at how she’s biting down at her lip and how her wide hips are slowly starting to push themselves down onto the metal. She brings her face up, kisses Beatrice’s soft mouth, and pulls the heavy crucifix out of her halfway, slides it back in much too slowly. “Oh, more.”

Her angelic voice is deeper with pleasure. Katya wants to fuck her voice out of her, asks for forgiveness for cussing the instant she thinks it. 

Katya’s stomach is rolling in delicious waves of pleasure. Her vision is blurring as she watches her crucifix slide in and out of Beatrice, she can feel the push and pull of her insides, the drag of them as she accepts it inside and whimpers as Katya pulls it out.

Her thighs are spread as wide as she can spread them, and Katya can gather this from how she reaches her warm hands to pull them apart as Katya shoves the metal all the way inside her. She accepts it like she’s done it before, as if she was crafted for Katya to play with and adore, her big breasts spilling from both sides of her chest. Katya slides fingers through her soft blonde curls again, tugs on them and swipes her thumb across her wetness, speeds up the thrusting of her crucifix heavy in her hand, twists her grip on it so Beatrice cries out. It’s muffled by her own fingers in her mouth, Katya can see then stuffed inside as she looks up at her sweet face.

“You are a gift from God,” Katya states. She says it so that her breath slides up Beatrice’s stomach, and she can feel her entire body shiver. “I am blessed to have you and touch you, from the inside.”

Beatrice sighs, shoves her hips down further and gasps when Katya pushes up with her hand at the same time, as the heavy metal catches inside her. Katya kisses her to swallow her moans, breathes her breath in. 

“Sister,” Beatrice mumbles. Her shoulders are lifting off of the bed and Katya moves her fingers from her stomach to rub her in time with her thrusts, and Beatrice releases a high whine that continues until she swallows, lips pressed chastely against Katya’s at her release, clenching around Katya’s body and around her crucifix that has warmed considerably from the heat of Beatrice’s insides and the warmth of Katya’s hand. “I-”

“Keep it inside,” Katya whispers. Beatrice whimpers, her hips still jerking off of the bed. “Be patient.”

“It’s warm,” Beatrice says. Katya huffs a laugh, as quietly as she can.

“You’ve warmed it right up,” she replies, and Beatrice’s head falls back against the pillows. Katya watches her close her eyes, and once she is properly settled she begins to slide the heavy metal out of her, ignoring how she covers her eyes with her red hands.

 

 

The shuffle of feet in the hall outside rouses Katya from her slumber. The faint light of day is shrouded by clouds, the pines out the window are bending slightly in the wind. She feels sticky and stiff, her hand is aching, and it takes her a few moments to understand her position, stretched out on her stomach, hair tangled around her torso.

Sister Beatrice is snoring slightly in her bed. Her face is stuffed in the pillow, she’s turned away from Katya and must have pulled on her nightgown at some point. Katya is still naked, and her sheets scratch at her nipples that are a little raw from Beatrice’s teeth.

She grunts, sits up and hisses as her thigh touches the cold metal of her crucifix, lying amongst the sheets. She stares at it in the early morning light, unthinking. She’s tired, her eyes won’t blink fast enough to rush the exhaustion out of them.

Beatrice shuffles around a little, her bright blonde hair is hanging in waves off of the edge of her bed. Her bed squeaks loudly as she turns over in sleep, long lashes falling like rain. 

Katya leans over, kisses her soft, plump cheek, and sits, rubs her face and eyes to wake herself. The sun is bright through the open curtains, that were forgotten in the night. A hand pulls her shoulder back, and Beatrice’s lips are on her cheeks, her nose, her hands cupping her head. 

Sister Beatrice combs her hair after her bath, ties it up tight much more efficiently than Katya has ever been able to, and smokes with Katya, out of the window. The sun burns the both of them, they keep their eyes shut, and Beatrice continuously chokes on smoke. Katya taps the back of her hand with one finger every time she does, to ground her.

 

 

Sister Beatrice refuses to leave Katya alone for the following months, stays by her side at every available moment. She is clingy, but Katya finds it exceptionally hard to mind, especially when Sister Beatrice begs to be fucked, wants to fuck her over and over again. Katya whispers for forgiveness.

Katya fills her up, reads verses for her as she touches herself, biting her lips for silence in the bed across the floor. Katya’s fingers shake as she turns the thin pages of her beloved Bible, as Beatrice spreads her legs and bares her cunt for Katya to stare at, as Katya tries desperately to ignore the noises of her fingers fucking herself and rubbing herself slowly. Katya reads the entirety of Revelations with Beatrice’s fingers tapping at her thighs, climbing onto Katya’s bed and kissing her stomach until it itches and Katya’s voice is strained.

Katya cannot hide from her body, her heavy breasts covered in layers of starchy underclothes and wool. She stares at Sister Beatrice in the chapel, takes communion with her eyes burning into her back. She falls asleep every night after talking with Beatrice for hours, about their lives before. Beatrice was sent to the convent after her mother walked in on her with a girl she knew from primary school, had shoved her out the ripped screen door in the kitchen into the snow in just a nightgown before thinking up something much better.

“Sister Yekaterina.” Beatrice’s voice comes through the fog, the heavy pines that fall atop Katya’s head. The forest floor is swirling, and Beatrice’s bare foot is positioned in front of her.

Katya looks up, leads her eyes up her naked body. She looks warm, despite the freezing air. Katya is wearing a thick wool blanket over her habit, her hair is loose beneath her hood in a futile attempt for warmth. Beatrice holds her hand towards her, palm open and facing the white sky, heavy, rusting nail shoved through her skin and bone, maroon blood dripping on the pine needles beneath Katya’s boots.

“Beatrice!” Katya gasps, but she can’t speak: her mouth is gasping to no avail. Beatrice’s face is pale but she’s smiling, still holding her hand for Katya to take. Her breasts are round and pale in the dim light, her stomach is heaving as if she’s run a long distance but her face is perfectly still, but for her blinking. 

“Look! Look. I’m leaving. Maria,” Beatrice whispers, eyelashes fluttering up to the heavens as Katya grips her bloody, wet fingers, avoiding the nails through her palms.

Katya’s heart is pounding so loudly in her chest that she is torn awake, and she thrashes in the tight cocoon she’s being held inside until she breathes, realizes that Beatrice’s arms are around her, shushing her as she cries. Katya’s hot tears are filling her own mouth, and she swallows the salty water before burying her face into Beatrice’s chest, folding her arms up between their stomachs. Beatrice keeps hold of her as she falls back to sleep, dry and free of running rivers of blood.

Katya cannot discern reality from God, cannot figure out if Beatrice is real or an angel. If she woke and Beatrice was gone, she would need to pretend as if she had never seen her, in case she’s a figment of Katya’s imagination, something she’s made up like she’s a child again. She doesn’t know if she could stand it.

 

 

“Sister Yekaterina?” 

Katya has one leg stretched out in front of her on her bed, she’s discarded her habit on the chair next to the window, so she’s just in underclothes. She lifts a hand to beckon Beatrice over and she takes it, her soft hand a little dry with dishwashing and scraping her fingerprints against the pages of the Bible.

“Kiss me,” Katya says. Beatrice climbs onto her bed, crawls to her lap, curls her legs between Katya’s and kisses her lips, moves her tongue to the side of Katya’s mouth and licks it, clacks their teeth together uncomfortably. She smells like winter, like the fire Katya knows is roaring in the main room.

“Are they still inside?” Katya whispers. Beatrice nods, plush lips dragging across Katya’s sharp chin. Katya smiles and pulls her skirts up, layers of habit and underskirts, scrapes her nails against her thick, warm underwear. “Good girl.”

Beatrice whimpers just as Katya likes, jerks her big hips upwards so that Katya’s nails scrape against the fleece. The thick underwear keeps all of them warm, and it wraps Beatrice up so well with her thick thighs and soft stomach that Katya could stuff each tiny wooden bead up inside her, could pull up her underwear tight around her waist so that the end of the beads could rest between her lips, beneath her curling, thick hair, so that they could rub against her all morning, and she doesn’t doubt that they were kept in place with how tight the fabric is against Beatrice’s skin.

Katya pulls her underwear down, has to yank on them in order to wriggle them off of her. Beatrice lies back, whimpers as Katya tugs on the blonde hairs that make themselves visible just as the underwear move down past her belly button. Katya stuffs her nose into Sister Beatrice’s thick, curling hair, right above her lips, she can see the beads peeking behind the blonde.

Beatrice whimpers again as Katya presses a kiss to her hair, breathes her scent in deeply and flutters her eyes shut, taking her time. Beatrice loves suffering more than Katya has ever known any of her sisters to- sometimes she pinches herself as she prays. Katya wonders if she has wings, if angels have wings or if they are simply walking as humans on Earth, as Beatrice seems to be. Beatrice’s fingers move up from the bedsheets and tangle in Katya’s hair, pull on it to bring her mouth closer to her core.

“No. God would want you to wait,” Katya brings her hand up in contradiction to her own words, tugs on a handful of blonde curls and rubs down hard on Beatrice’s lips, against the beads. Beatrice has learned how to be quiet, but she lets out a long, gentle cry anyways, slaps a hand to Katya’s cheek and tugs on her earlobe.

“Did God make you for me?” Katya groans, kisses her again. Beatrice’s hips shift beneath her and Katya hisses to cease them. “My lady Beatrice.”

Beatrice looks beautiful with the rosary inside of her, pink and aching. She’s wet, and Katya places her palm flat against her so that she can rub up against it. Katya’s hands are dry with cold, and she imagines they scrape against Beatrice’s thin, sensitive skin. 

Katya grapples with the beads, grips them despite how they’re soaked with Beatrice’s wetness, and begins to pull them ever slowly out of her. The dark wood is stained, and Beatrice pushes her hips upwards to greet Katya’s thin hand teasing them out of her. She releases a heavy breath, and Katya’s eyes come up from her work to glide over her face, the little wrinkles on her smooth forehead. 

“Sister Yekaterina, please kiss me,” Beatrice says. Katya’s heart beats twice, and her lips are against Beatrice’s, kissing her chastely, over and over. She pulls away and Beatrice’s eyes are sparkling. Katya grins slowly.

“You should call me Katya,” she whispers. Beatrice’s hand reaches to the back of Katya’s neck, yanks her forwards to kiss her again. Katya’s lips stay unmoving against Beatrice’s, until Beatrice sucks hard on her bottom lip. Katya breathes hot into her mouth.

She pulls the rosary from deep, deep inside Beatrice as they kiss, and just before she pulls the majority of it out quickly she places her thumb against Beatrice’s clit, rubs down and yanks with her other hand. Beatrice cries into her mouth, so hot against her and warm beneath her, and her elbow brings Katya’s neck further forward, to deepen the kiss that’s hardly a kiss anymore.

Katya’s eyes squeeze shut, she can hear Beatrice sobbing a little as she comes. Katya has never been held so tightly, knows it’s retribution for Beatrice sitting in chapel with a rosary inside of her, scraping up against her. Her entire body is being squished and pulled and caressed, and Beatrice sticks two fingers inside of her and Katya comes tight around them. All of her muscles are clenched.

“Katya, Katya, Katya-” Beatrice is saying. Katya slowly releases the tension in her limbs, opens her eyes, blinks rapidly to take in the sight of Beatrice beneath her, her pale cheeks bright red in the daylight. Her chest is heaving, and Katya’s nipples are twisting against her sweaty stomach. 

“Yes,” Katya replies. She breathes deeply to try to calm her heart rate. It all feels fast, panicky, and Beatrice’s hands move to her cheeks. Katya did not know that she was crying.

“I love you,” Beatrice says. Her face is calm, and her hands cup Katya’s cheeks. “It’s time to leave.”

Katya isn’t sure if she’s sleeping. She’s had darker dreams, more confusing dreams, and she closes her eyes for a second before opening them again in curiosity. The shadows of the room are long, dinner will soon be served and Katya will be squished on a bench with all of her sisters in the dining hall, and she’ll look across to Beatrice and smile secretly. It’ll be dark by the time the soup and bread are served, and Katya will feel less shaky once she’s eaten.

“I still don’t know if you’re an angel,” she hears herself saying. Beatrice’s eyes widen, and her smile grows.

“Maria,” she whispers under her breath. Her hands card through Katya’s hair, her fingertips cool against her hot ears. “Don’t you want to cut this?”

Katya closes her eyes again, rests her head on Beatrice’s chest, right between her breasts. 

“I know you aren’t real,” she sobs, and Beatrice covers her mouth with a warm, sticky hand.

 

 

Katya sits nearly in Beatrice’s lap in the freezing snow, covered in all the clothes she could fit on her body. Suitcases would be too heavy, in addition to all of the food stuffed in their pockets, the hats on their heads, the scarves. Beatrice’s heart is tick-ticking, under Katya’s ear, and they wait until the sun has gone down to click on her tiny little flashlight, to find the road.

Katya knows that it’s only five miles to the city, knows that they can walk it easily, knows that the cold is something to worry about but not something to be overly fearful of. With so many warm clothes, with the stolen thermos of cocoa, with their respective bodies close and radiating heat, Katya understands that they will be in the nearest hotel in around an hour. She will be close to Beatrice, naked, in bed, in such little time that it will surprise her.

The trees loom above them, cutout in the yellow shine of the flashlight, and Beatrice is breathing heavily in her ear. 

Katya feels out of her body, floating just above them, and when Beatrice’s fingers close around her own, when Beatrice slowly undresses her in the cheap hotel room, when Beatrice sticks a cigarette in her mouth and lights it, she blinks over and over and over.

“We made it,” Beatrice whispers. Katya’s legs are shaking from the cold. 

“Let’s take a bath in that tub.” Katya gestures to the dingy bathroom. Beatrice grins, pulls a pair of scissors out of the pocket of her coat, pulls Katya’s hair to cut it in a straight line, to trim her uneven bangs, to snip off entire curls of her own. Katya sees the both of them in the mirror beside each other for the first time.

Beatrice sits on the opposite side of the tub from her, splashes her with bubbles and smokes cigarette after cigarette, squeezes Katya’s knee with warm, wet fingers. Katya smiles at her and kisses her right cheek three times, before tucking her into bed, sliding in beside her, breathing to sleep.


End file.
